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my toe! Owwwwooooo—OLD STUMP GIVES UP!”
    Bartleby released his grip on the long, revolting toe. “My friends and I are leaving this bayou. Don’t try to stop us, or next time I may swallow your toe,” he said, although his stomach turned at the thought.
    â€œGood riddance,” Old Stump snarled. “You weren’t a very good present, anyway.”

8
    The Flooded Forest
    Before Old Stump could change his mind again, Bartleby, Seezer, and Grub crawled up the mud bank and slipped away into the woods. As he rode on Seezer’s back, Bartleby inspected the tooth marks on his friend’s neck.
    â€œDo your wounds hurt much?” he asked.
    â€œSssertainly not. That old ssscoundrel’s teeth were too rotten to ssstab my ssscaly hide very deeply. But I was getting awfully tired of ssstruggling with that ssselfish bully. It’s good you and Grub joined the ssscuffle.”
    Grrruhhhh! Grub let out a proud bellow. “In the morning Old Stump is going to have a big tail ache. I wouldn’t want to be around him then.”
    But there was no time to celebrate their victory. The thought of the enraged bull gator made them press on even faster through the thick tangle of vines and bushes.
    Whoosh, whoosh!
    â€œDid you hear that?” Bartleby asked from atop Seezer’s back.
    Seezer stopped and listened. “What did it sssound like?”
    Bartleby’s webs trembled. “Like the sweeping of a great tail across the forest floor.”
    â€œLike this, little bro’?” Grub whisked his tail back and forth.
    â€œYes—only with a much bigger tail.”
    â€œIt could have been the sssound of mice rustling the leaves—or of a bird of prey ssspreading its wings,” Seezer suggested. “But if sssomeone is ssstalking us, it’s sssafer to keep moving.”
    Staying very close together, the little band scuttled around the trees, over logs and rocks, and through piles of brush. The deeper they went, the darker it got. After a while, they could hardly see one another.
    Whoosh, whoosh.
    â€œI hear it now, little bro’,” Grub hissed.
    â€œSsso do I,” Seezer agreed. “Sssomeone is trailing us. We must find a sssecure place to sssettle before it catches up.” He swung his head toward Grub. “Which way ssshould we go?”
    â€œI don’t know, bro’. I’ve never been farther than the mud bank before.”
    â€œI know a swamp not far from here,” whispered a familiar voice.
    Bartleby stretched out his neck and looked around. “Quickfoot—is that you?”
    â€œYes,” the voice answered.
    â€œWho’s Quickfoot, little bro’?”
    â€œA new friend. She asked the egrets to bring fish to the bayou so the guard gators would eat while I swam ahead of them.”
    â€œSssplendidly done!” Seezer looked around. “Ssshow yourself ssso we can thank you for sssaving Bartleby.”
    There was no answer—no crackling in the brush or soft, careful footsteps.
    Seezer flicked his tail. “Come on, don’t be ssshy. Time is ssshort.”
    â€œQuickfoot is a swamp rabbit,” Bartleby explained. “Old Stump devoured her entire family. She is not fond of alligators. You must agree not to harm her.”
    â€œWhy, I’m very fond of swamp rabbits,” Grub crooned.
    â€œControl yourself!” Seezer growled. He looked toward the thicket where the voice had come from. “You have my promise. If you ssshow us where to ssseek ssshelter, you will be sssafe with us.”
    Whoosh , whoosh. Everyone fell silent when they heard the powerful sweeping. It was getting closer.
    â€œYou can trust me, too, swamp bunny,” Grub whispered. “Just let’s get going. Please!”
    â€œAll right. Follow me.” The silhouette of a plump rabbit emerged from behind a thorny bush. Before the gators could get a good look, it took off hopping.
    The alligators had to